What's Wrong With Me
by bookdiva
Summary: When Elizabeth decides to help Abigail at the Café one Saturday morning, she burns her hand. Her injury ends up being the catalyst she needs to have a conversation with her friend about a certain Constable and a question he still hasn't asked her. My first WCTH story. I LOVE this show so much, and I'm excited to have a story to post. Please let review to let me know what you think!


_**AN: Well, this is my first When Calls The Heart fanfiction, but I figured... I love When Calls the Heart and I love fanfiction, so... perfect! I really hope that you like it, and if you do, please review! Maybe I'll add more. Now, I know we never see Elizabeth break down on the show. She's very strong. But I think that even the strongest people have times when they just need to cry.**_

 _ **So, without further ado, please enjoy my contribution to this wonderful fandom!**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

Helping Abigail in the café on a Saturday morning felt good. Rosemary and Lee were still on their honeymoon, and Elizabeth had offered to come in early to help Abigail get ready for the Saturday morning breakfast rush. She'd volunteered to come help because she'd missed her dear friend in all the craziness of the past month, and catching up with Abigail and stirring muffin batter was the perfect way to pass time she'd otherwise spend stewing. More specifically, it distracted her thoughts from Jack and a certain question that he still hadn't asked.

 _Why hasn't he asked?_ Elizabeth wondered to herself, half-heartedly opening the oven to place the muffins inside.

 _Rosemary and Lee are already married for heaven's sake!_ her thoughts continued. _And they haven't been courting half as long._

"Oooooohhh!" she exclaimed as her uncovered hand touched the inside of the oven door. The muffin tin clattered loudly onto the rack inside the oven, and Elizabeth pulled her hand to her mouth, muffling a cry and trying to soothe the searing pain.

"Elizabeth!" Abigail cried, spinning around at the sound. Clara came rushing in from the dining room at Abigail's exclamation.

"What's wrong?" Clara cried.

Tears came unbidden to Elizabeth's eyes until she couldn't contain them anymore. They slid silently down her cheeks.

"Oh, dear," Abigail said, her tone compassionate and concerned. "Here now, let me see."

Abigail gently took Elizabeth's hand gently into her own and examined the inflamed skin. Elizabeth took a deep breath as the air touched her burned skin and ignited the pain again. With deft fingers, Abigail turned Elizabeth's hand over in her own to see the damage on her palm.

"This is going to hurt," Abigail said gently. Elizabeth looked up into her friend's compassionate eyes. It was such times that made Elizabeth's heart ache for the mother her friend used to be. "But I think you'll live a long life."

 _Alone._

Abigail's tone was light, but it hit a raw spot in Elizabeth's heart. Before she could stop it, the silent tears turned into full blown sobs. Everything she'd been holding in since she'd turned around and seen Charles on bended knee. Her body shook and she ripped her hand away from Abigail, clutching it close to her body in her other hand.

She vaguely heard Abigail ask Clara to go to the infirmary to ask Faith if she had anything for a burn, but Elizabeth was more concerned with gaining control of her suddenly out-of-control emotions. After a few shaky breaths and some comforting murmurs from Abigail, Elizabeth's sobs subsided.

"I'm… sorry Abigail," Elizabeth whispered, shaking her head at herself. "I don't know what… came over me, I…"

"Elizabeth," Abigail said softly, rubbing her back. "What's wrong?"

The question brought up another one in her mind, and Elizabeth sighed as she sank back against the cupboards.

"What's wrong with me?" she whispered, taking her first deep breath.

"Oh, Elizabeth," Abigail said softly. "Nothing's wrong with you. Everyone has moments where they just need to cry."

"No," Elizabeth shook her head. "I mean, what's wrong with me? He's always there but then he… leaves." She looked up at Abigail. "He wanted to marry Rosemary once. Why doesn't he want to marry me?"

* * *

Jack sighed as he stepped out of the jail. The early morning air did wonders to clear his mind, but he wouldn't mind a cup of Abigail's coffee as well. Descending the stairs with a jovial hop, he headed to Abigail's for the coffee.

 _And the company,_ he thought honestly. After all, Elizabeth had mentioned that she was helping Abigail prepare for the morning rush, and even though he'd seen her before turning in the night before, he missed her.

He was almost through the front door to the café when Clara barreled out, running straight into his chest.

"Clara," Jack chuckled, steadying her with ease. "Where's the fire?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Jack," she said, taking a step backwards. "I'm just running over to the infirmary to see if Faith has any medicine. I'm sure she's fine, but then she burst into tears, and Abigail told me to go see if I could find something to help, and—"

"Wait a moment," Jack said, holding up his hand to slow Clara's babble. "What happened?"

"Oh, Elizabeth burned her hand," she said, and Jack felt his heart clench as it always did at the thought of Elizabeth in pain. "And then she just… burst into tears. It's so unlike her. Abigail sent me for Faith."

Jack nodded and already made toward the door.

"Okay," he said, opening the door. He'd barely made it inside when he saw her, tear tracks on her face and tucked up against the cupboards.

"Oh Elizabeth," Abigail soothed softly as Jack softly closed the door so as not to startle the two women. "Nothing's wrong with you. Everyone has moments where they just need to cry."

"No," Elizabeth shook her head before Jack could announce his presence with his own words of comfort. "I mean, what's wrong with me? He's always there, but then he… leaves." Her eyes shifted up toward Abigail, and Jack could see that there were still tears in them. "He wanted to marry Rosemary once. Why doesn't he want to marry me?"

For a long moment there was absolute silence in Abigail's café, but all Jack could hear was the blood rushing in his own ears.

 _She thinks I don't want to marry her?_

He involuntarily took a step back toward the door, out of sight to the two women on the floor, unable to stop listening.

"Oh, Elizabeth," Abigail said, surprise coloring her tone. "Is that what this is about?"

"No," Elizabeth said with a sigh and a deep breath. Jack could almost imagine her collecting herself and her emotions. "No, I know he wants to marry me. I mean, we've talked about it. I'm being silly, I know, and I don't want to push him… it's just…" she trailed off for a long moment, and Jack almost considered making his presence known. Then she continued, "I feel like we are married. I mean, we share each other's joys and problems, I seek him out for some matter at least once every day, and we eat dinner together every night."

"But then he leaves," Abigail finished, and Jack felt a pang in his heart at Elizabeth's sound of agreement.

"I don't want to push him," Elizabeth continued. "I know the whole Charles fiasco set us back. And I'm starting to see that from his perspective. I mean, if I were to see Faith proposing to Jack, I think I would feel the same way."

The comparison struck Jack, because he really felt nothing beyond friendship for Faith.

 _The same way Elizabeth assured you she felt nothing for Charles beyond friendship,_ his conscience pointed out.

"I'm glad you're giving him time," Abigail said softly, bringing Jack back to the present, "but perhaps you should share your thoughts with Jack."

Elizabeth sighed again. "You're right," she said. Then she laughed. "You're always right."

"Come here," Abigail said, and Jack imagined she was gathering Elizabeth for a hug. Elizabeth's slight hiss of pain reminded him of why the two women were sitting on the kitchen floor in the first place. Realizing that Clara would be back at any moment, he decided to make his presence known. He opened the door again and made like he'd just arrived.

"Elizabeth," he said, allowing his worry for her to fill his tone. "Clara said that you burned your hand." He crossed the dining room and into the kitchen where he knelt by her side. "Are you alright?"

When she looked over at him, her eyes were clear.

"It's nothing major," she said, smiling at him reassuringly. "I simply wasn't paying attention."

"Well, Miss Thatcher," he said, doing his best to sound stern. "That simply will not do. What would your teacher have to say about that?"

He looked over to Abigail who was doing her best to keep a straight face.

"She would say that it happens to everyone," Abigail said gently. "And that she's proud of how far you've come and how hard you've worked."

Elizabeth smiled at both of them, and Jack helped Elizabeth and Abigail to their feet. Abigail went to check the muffins in the oven, and Elizabeth turned to Jack.

"Since you're here so early, Constable, perhaps you'd like a hot cup of coffee?" Elizabeth asked, smiling coyly at him as she went for the coffee with her good hand.

Jack reached out his hand to stall her movements, gripping her wrist gently.

"Perhaps I should pour the coffee," he said, winking at her. "You need at least one hand to teach, after all."

"Jack Thornton," she exclaimed with that sparkle he loved so much in her eyes. "I'll have you know that I am perfectly capable of pouring coffee one-handed."

And with that statement, she grabbed a mug from the cupboard, gripped the handle of the pot tightly, and poured him a cup on steaming hot coffee without spilling a drop.

"You know," Jack said, tilting his head to the side. "I'm fairly certain there's nothing you can't do."

He was rewarded with a surprised smile on her beautiful face.

"Why, Jack," she said softly. "That's one of the nicest compliments anyone has ever given me."

As she smiled at him, his mind flashed back to a box in the top drawer of his desk. The conversation he'd heard earlier had given him a lot to think about, but he knew it wouldn't— _couldn't_ —be long before he asked her to be his wife.


End file.
